


it ends at three am

by TheDangerAddict



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Back on my angsty bullshit again, Death, Fake AH Crew, Graphic Violence, M/M, Never really got off it though either, jeremwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDangerAddict/pseuds/TheDangerAddict
Summary: Jeremy has a really bad day.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones, Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	it ends at three am

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. I swear. I’m sorry.

Jeremy remembers the day his world collapsed like it was yesterday. He remembers all the little details down to the socks he slipped on before he left the apartment that morning. He'd played the day over and over again in his head so many times that the memory's become ingrained into his soul. He knows there's realistically nothing he could've done to stop it, but that doesn't stop him from hating himself for not fixing it before it could happen. Jeremy lives in a sick, mangled world of regret.

When Jeremy replays that day, it starts at three am. He's alone in a bed, so cold his toes have gone numb. The room is dark aside from the artificial light that filters through the light blocking curtains—old thing that Ryan refuses to get rid of no matter how many tears Booker makes in the thing or the damn bullet hole that projects a lazer of light right in Jeremy's face when he wakes up, says it's got some sort of emotional value. Ryan's never told the story. The wooden floor is colder than the air when his feet meet the ground and he curses Ryan's affinity for hellishly freezing temperatures. 

Despite the annoyance that coils in the pit of his stomach, his feet take him to the living room of the one bedroom apartment instead of the bathroom. He finds Ryan on the couch curled in on himself and shaking. Whatever dreams that plague him tonight aren't pleasant. His leather jacket is over him in a makeshift blanket. The features of his face are soft, mouth pulled into a small frown.

Jeremy hesitates in the doorway, opens his mouth to call his name softly. The name dies in his throat when he remembers he's still mad at Ryan. Jeremy turns around and stalks to the bathroom, only stopping to spitefully turn the heater on.

And then it's just before six am. Jeremy wakes up again and the house is warm, lulling him back to sleep despite the urgent feeling of having somewhere to be that builds in his throat. If only it weren't for the stupid curtains Ryan refuses to replace. The light is bothersome and bright even with eyes closed. Jeremy can't fall back asleep. So he starts to get ready, zoning out while in the midst of washing his hands. His thoughts are avoidant of Ryan even when all Jeremy wants to think about is his boyfriend, who Jeremy realizes is no longer in the apartment when he walks into the kitchen to retrieve a can of Red Bull and notices the living room couch occupied by Booker, Zipper, and Scooter alone. 

"Asshole.." Jeremy muttered, trying to convince himself he was more angry with Ryan than worried.

It's half past eight am when Jeremy makes his way into the penthouse. Ryan isn't there either. Jeremy isn't capable of ignoring the way his stomach drops in reaction to that, all the way down to the floor. 

The penthouse is a bit of a mess, blankets and pillows strewn all over the floor. Jeremy assumes it's the dusk boys' work and is proven right when Trevor, Alfredo, and Gavin bolt down the hallway, chased by Jack. 

"'Sup, Lil— Bloody— Fredo!" Gavin lets out a noise that's a cross between a scream and a bird cry as he slips on a pillow.

Jeremy stands there and watches as Trevor dramatically drops to his knees, giving an outlandishly desperate cry of grief. Alfredo makes a show of grabbing Trevor's arm and trying to drag him away. Jack is on Gavin in a matter of seconds, Gavin squawking and flailing.

Jeremy smiles and laughs despite the overwhelming concern dancing around his heart. The penthouse is warm and inviting—and Jeremy doesn't want to trouble anyone with his and Ryan's relationship problems. 

It's twelve pm when Jeremy arrives on the sight of the negotiations. Gone are Gavin Free, Jeremy Dooley, and Michael Jones; out to play are the Golden Boy, Rimmy Tim, and Mogar. 

The Golden Boy is all sharp grins and flashy gold as he saunters up to the meet, dressed in light gray skinny jeans and a burgundy long sleeve button up. Gold rings decorate his hands— almost the same shade as the pair of high top converse he wears. The man who'd gracelessly slipped on a pillow this morning is nowhere to be found.

Mogar is all rough edges and irritated scowls, standing behind the Golden Boy with a look that promises broken noses and bloody fists if you make one wrong move. He's not as tall or broad as the Vagabond, but Mogar is a different breed of pain. Where the Vagabond is calculated, Mogar is impulsive. Where Mogar's wrath is blunt and fiery, the Vagabond’s wrath is a cold, sharp fury.

Rimmy Tim is all bright, conflicting colors and unpredictable smart ass comments, trailing behind Michael with a grin on his face that’s not snide enough to rival the Golden Boy’s own. His right hand isn’t far from his gun as the other tips his hat in greeting to someone who openly gawks in horror at his outfit. 

The negotiations go well enough— the opposing crew promises to stay off Fake territory, but they all know the crew won’t listen for more than a week. Michael complains about it once they’re back in the car, holding Gavin’s hand just out of Jeremy’s line of sight as he does so. Jeremy teases them about it anyways.

It’s a little past one pm when Jeremy eats lunch. His stomach still feels hollow after wolfing down almost half of a pizza. He can’t seem to stop checking his phone and he knows Michael notices when he catches the redhead’s eyes. Gavin is rambling about theoretical situations when Jeremy excuses himself from the table. 

When he gets into the bathroom, he calls Ryan. The bathroom is clean, probably courtesy of Jack. The decor is on a level that confirms it. The phone rings once, twice, three times. On the seventh ring it goes to voicemail. It doesn’t soothe the horrible feeling in Jeremy’s chest.

Michael nods to him when he comes back to the table, a knowing look in his eyes. Jeremy nods back with a convincing, but nonetheless grin, mocking Gavin’s voice as he sits.

It’s well after eight pm, not quite nine yet, when Jeremy makes his way out of the penthouse. Michael follows him to the elevator and the ride down is spent in a tense silence. 

“Cigarette?” Michael doesn’t speak until they step onto the street.

The wind has picked up since the negotiations and it carries the smell of the ocean with it. Jeremy and Michael huddle to light their cigarettes. Michael shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket as soon as Jeremy’s is lit. Jeremy nods in appreciation. They both watch the cars that drive past and five minutes of silence pass.

Jeremy jumps mid drag when a hand claps on his shoulder. He calms down when he realizes it’s Michael.

“Hey.” Michael starts.

Michael’s not looking at him, still watching the road in front of them. He takes a drag. Jeremy looks back to the road, smoke drifting upwards from Michael’s mouth in his peripherals. A blue truck drives past with a dog in the back, loudly barking at the pair on the sidewalk.

“Don’t be an idiot, okay?” Michael stops, hesitating, then starts again, softer, “We’re here for you, asshole.”

Jeremy looks to Michael and finds that the redhead had turned to him at some point after the initial start of the conversation. There’s a scowl on his face, but his eyes are soft with concern. Jeremy smiles despite all the turmoil inside of his brain.

“You’re looking in the wrong place for an idiot. Gav’s inside.”

Michael laughs and Jeremy follows him. 

“You’re both fucking idiots.”

It’s halfway to ten pm when Jeremy returns to his and Ryan’s shared apartment. Anger overtakes his concern when Ryan is nowhere to  
be found. He checks his phone despite having checked it before he walked into the door. No missed calls. No messages. Jeremy barely gets to his room before he hurls his phone at the wall. His bed is welcoming and warm, the heater still on from the morning. Jeremy doesn’t let himself cry, just forces himself to sleep. It turns out to not be so hard, exhaustion setting in as soon as Jeremy’s head meets the pillow.

It’s almost twelve am when Jeremy’s pulled out of sleep by his ringing phone. He groans, pulls a pillow over his head, and attempts to ignore the shrill bell sounds. It’s ineffective. 

Jeremy rolls out of bed with sleep addled movements, almost falling on his face. His room is dark and his door is open, revealing a dark apartment. Briefly, the question of whether he’d locked the door crosses his mind. 

His phone stops ringing for a grand total of two seconds before it’s ringing again. The phone screen is absolutely shattered when he finds it. The name on the screen is almost unintelligible. Jeremy realizes it’s Ryan. Relief floods his senses, so strong tears prickle at his eyes, quickly followed by blinding anger.

“You fuck.” Jeremy answers the phone.

There’s the sound of leather scraping against brick and and police sirens coming through the phone. The police sirens aren’t loud enough to be for Ryan. Jeremy opens his mouth to berate Ryan for the radio silence, for not apologizing, for— for lying to him. Labored breathing stops him. 

“Jer...” It’s deep and oh so weak when it comes through the phone.

Panic seizes Jeremy and he scrambles for the burner phone they keep in the nightstand. There’s yelling wherever Ryan is.

“Where are you?” Jeremy tries to keep his voice stable, dialing Geoff.

Ryan lets out a weak laugh followed by a sharp intake of breath and a muttered curse, “I love you, Jer.”

Jeremy’s hands are shaking. Geoff doesn’t answer. He dials Jack’s number, listening for anything that could give away Ryan’s location.

“Where are you?” Jeremy insists.

Ryan shifts and starts to cough, harsh, sputtering wheezes. Jack’s phone goes to voicemail. He’s gasping in pain whenever the coughs subside. Jeremy’s fingers struggle to punch in Geoff’s number again, barely registering the tears that pour down his face.

“Ryan, you asshole, tell me where you are!”

Ryan’s hissing and cursing, pain lacing every sound he makes. It makes Jeremy’s chest seize, heart pounding. The burner clicks and Jeremy makes a sound of desperation. 

“Jeremy... what the fuck was that.. why the fuck are you calling me at midnight?” Geoff’s voice is groggy with sleep.

“It’s Ryan.” His voice must give it all away, because Geoff says something away from the phone and when he speaks to Jeremy again, all of the sleep has been swept from his voice.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t— Geoff, he won’t tell me.”

The only thing that’s holding Jeremy together is the fact that Ryan is still breathing.

“Can I speak to him?” 

Jeremy puts Ryan on speaker and the breathing is so much more painful to listen to. It’s a horrible sound: slow, uneven, and whistling. 

“Ryan, where are you, bud?” Geoff asks, voice higher with stress

There’s a drawn out version of the leather scuffing sound. Jeremy thinks Ryan might be shaking.

“Ryan.” Geoff’s voice has gotten higher, but it’s an order.

The reply is small and pained. “I don’t know.”

Ryan’s breathing hitches and there’s the sound of someone throwing up away from the phone. For a moment they can’t hear Ryan’s whistling breaths and Jeremy panics.

“Battle Buddy?”

“I can’t see.” It comes out wobbly and defeated.

There’s a noise on Geoff’s line and Jeremy breathes deep.

“You’ll always be my battle buddy, Jer. Always. Even when I’m gone.” Ryan has to pause multiple times to get it out and his voice is so small, but it’s there.

Jeremy let’s out a sob, frozen on the bed. He remembers locking the door now. His keys are still in the door.

“Ryan..I’m—“

Jack cuts him off on Geoff’s line. “Everyone’s going to look, Jer. Stay in touch. Be careful.”

Her voice is a comfort to his shattering heart. Jeremy takes a deep breath. The line beeps.

“I’m sorry, Jer.. for lying to you. I.. You were so happy and know it’s not okay, but I just wanted you to stay happy.”

There’s no silence. Ryan’s breathing is fading, but there’s no silence. The city doesn’t stop for anyone. 

“I forgive you, Ry. I’m going to find you, okay? Stay on the line, okay?”

Jeremy grabs his keys and Ryan is so quiet when he says yes.

It’s a little past am when Jeremy can no longer hear Ryan’s breathing. The moment comes way too soon. The car goes from almost silent to overwhelmingly quiet.

“Ryan?” 

Jeremy’s hands tighten on the wheel of his car. No response comes. There’s just the sound of the city on the other side of the phone.

“Ryan, please.” Jeremy’s voice breaks.

Jeremy starts to talk about his day. He tells the story of how he met Ryan and the story of how he moved to Los Santos. He tells every story he knows, because if he stops talking he’ll hear the silence and anything is better than the absence of Ryan’s breathing.

It’s half past two am when Jeremy gets the call from Geoff on his personal. It jolts him from his story of how he stole Geoff’s Zentorno and he scrambles for the burner phone, pulling his car to the side of the road. The number is muscle memory, but his shaking fingers still can’t get it right. It takes five tries. 

Geoff answers on the second ring, “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“Jeremy, I’m sorry.”

“Geoff stop, please.”

Jeremy’s car is so cold, just the way Ryan always liked it. The tears that roll down his face are copious in amount. His throat aches.

“FUCK!” Jeremy punches his steering wheel.

He starts driving to the address Geoff gives as soon as Geoff gives it.

It ends at three am. Jeremy Dooley’s heart dies at three am when he arrives in an alley way and catches sight of the body. Michael tries to grab him, tries to block his line of sight on the body.

“Jeremy—“

“Michael! Let me fucking go!”

He slips around Michael and runs to the body. His legs give out within two feet of it. He can’t feel his knees where they hit the concrete. The pool of blood around Ryan is massive. His abdomen is a mess— almost like he took a shotgun blast from four feet away. Jeremy’s stomach twists, but he can’t look away. The eyes are what really get to him. They’re gone. Jeremy’s heart twists, but he can’t look away. There’s vomit and blood mingling on his other side. Jeremy’s heart begs him to stop, but he can’t look away. His legs are at awkward angles, broken, and so is his right arm. Bone sticks out through the skin of the right arm.

Jeremy doesn’t care how much blood gets on him, he clings to Ryan’s body.

It ends at three am.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I got just a little bored and wrote this little piece.


End file.
